Fucking Ezekiel, he thought. How difficult could it be to be a prophet, anyway? Predict the absolute worst horrors you can imagine - persecutions, atrocities, fires, floods, famine - and odds are pretty good they'll come to be ...
Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel - each one foresaw more misery than the one before, and what did that abject pessimism, that supernal, sorrowful, suffocating cynicism get them? It got them their own books in the Bible, that's what. Not little ones, either - fifty, sixty chapters a piece. You know who didn't get his own book in the Bible? The guy who said, It’s going to be okay, folks; honestly, I think it’s coming around. Nostradamus was no idiot - if he'd predicted peace, calm, and sunny skies we wouldn't know his name today.